Cair Paravel: A Poetic Interpretation

EveningStar

EveningStar

Mage Scribe
Staff member
Knight of the Noble Order
Royal Guard
Like some musicians, Respighi most notably among them, I sought to capture the spirit of a place with a series of short pieces. Only these are poems in the same iambic tetrameter, three stanzas of five verses. If there is enough interest, I may record them to the pieces of music that inspired them.

And so with no further ado.... Cair Paravel: A Poetic Interpretation.
 
THE BLOSSOMS AT MIDNIGHT

For sun and moon the roses bloom;
By day romanced with warmth and hue,
The friendly brush of gold kissed bees;
The night entreats with countless gems
Spread out upon its velvet robe

Beneath the alabaster moon
The treasured blooms in splendor reign,
The monarchs of the garden wall
In regal robes of ruddy red
Bejeweled with flawless pearls of dew

Like Aslan’s blood their crimson hue
And like his breath their fragrance fair;
How soft the whisper of a rose!
To soothe the sorrows of a queen
And lay the kingly woes to rest
 
THE TOWERS AT MORNING

In bright array the ancient walls
Are greeted by the morning sun
As strident bands of hungry gulls
Traverse the verdant breaking waves
To dip and snatch at passing fish

The lion banners stir and stretch
Within the ocean breezes cool
And round the wakening parapets
The weary yeoman of the guard
Retires before his counterpart

Though Spartan in the light of noon
The great round towers pierce the sky,
As golden scepters of a King
And like a monarch on his throne
The stately spires command respect
 
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THE LANE AT MIDDAY

The buskers play for farthing tips
And sing to earn their daily bread
The vendors sing, yet none too sweet
“Fresh fish!” they cry, as folk pass on
And laughing children chase the carts

A panoply of sights and sounds
And fragrances of varied wares
May tempt the passersby to stay
Perhaps a moment they remain
Perhaps a moment, then they part

On down the brook of cobblestones
The tide of time runs ceaselessly
Its current sweeps the folk along
On varied errands here and there
And bears them back to hearth and home
 
THE THRONES AT EVENING

Like solemn prayers the silent thrones
Submit to Aslan wild and wise
Their arms embraced the Kings and Queens
At many times both foul and fair
When mortal captains steered their course

What anecdotes these thrones could tell
Of joyous sendings from a friend
That made the weight of rule the less
Of bitter tidings from the South
That led brave soldiers into strife

The evening sun in setting paints
Their eastward shadows long and dark
And kisses with its final breath
The golden crests upon their heads
Then silently gives way to night
 
John, if there is ever another Narnia Fans convention, you MUST don a costume and recite these poems to everyone! Tumnus may not have played like a Narnian lullaby, but you write like a Narnian bard. And you are in respectable company with your choice not to bother about rhyming. John Milton, except when he was writing sonnets, considered rhyme a cheap device, a shallow substitute for true literary inspiration.
 
Thank you, Copper. If I can, I will. In the meanwhile, I will recite the poems sometime and put them out on my site. This is the sort of Narnia project I've wanted to do for a long time. Finally found the time.
 
All right, here's your next move. WAIT at least two weeks from this date, then post ANOTHER poem on this same thread. KEEP it visible on the stack, and give your work the chance to be found by additional readers!!
 
Wonderful, Magister! I wish I could better appreciate poetry.
Click to expand...

I'll send you my favourite recipe for chocolate chip cookies and my mailing address. That makes you an expert at appreciating poetry. ;)
 
Some of my poetry does not rhyme, and that's by design. Some does but deliberately has no meter. Some is classical meter and rhyme. This poem, written some time ago, is indicative of the latter:

BRIEF SPRING
To the Dead of the Ford at Beruna

Beruna's fields are bright with blooms
That nod and tremble in the breeze
And round about the open mead
The birds bedeck the verdant trees

We used to pray for blooms and birds
And spent our blood to bring them nigh
To green the trees and free the land
And here beneath the grass we lie

Keep high the flag and sing the songs
And ne'er forget the price we paid
Or we, though dead, will not find peace
Though still beneath the sod we're laid

Our spring was brief
 
For those unaware of it, Magister's Beruna poem is in the spirit of a classic war poem called "In Flanders' Fields." I love the older poem, and I love this one.
 
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